Her Soldier (That Girl #3)

by H. J. Bellus

  I wonder if this is a normal activity for him or if I absolutely set him off. I’m used to setting people off to the point they can’t handle being in the same room with me. I did it to my parents all the time growing up and never truly understood it. I thought I was playing just like the other kids my age, but it was always me causing the scene and pissing people off.

  My bladder screams to me in a wave of urgency. I retreat to the living quarters, mentally noting I need to drag my blanket out here and get some rays. The apartment seems much smaller without Beau in it, and it makes me feel like a stranger in someone else’s home. He’s never made me feel that way. In a strange sense, the man has made me feel more welcome here than I’ve ever felt anywhere else in my life.

  Walking through his room, my gaze lands on the portrait by his bed. I’m drawn to the sweet baby’s face. Her hot pink dress and chubby little cheeks are too much to resist. I pick up the picture in one hand and the dog tags in the other. I know I’m not supposed to be doing this, but the need to know more about Beau is too overpowering.

  I was right; even up close the baby has Beau’s eyes. Turning over the picture in my hand I see writing on the back.

  Lucy, 4 Months Old, Love, Gram.

  I repeat the words over and over in my mind and the only scenario I can come up with is that his gram sent him this picture of the little girl. And I can only guess why. He has a daughter. The cold metal in my other hand draws my attention to it.

  Abbner

  Jeremiah, J.

  123-45-7825

  O Pos

  Catholic

  The metal grows heavy in my hand as I reread the first name over and over. Trying to fit the first name Beau in anywhere just doesn’t work. Maybe it’s not his. Maybe it’s a best friend’s or an older relative. A loud noise from outside the apartment startles me and I drop both items at once. I watch as the picture floats to ground while the dog tags sink into a partially opened drawer on the nightstand. The stomping continues, and the last thing I want to be is busted by a pissed off Beau. Snooping through someone’s personal items has to be the worst thing a person can do.

  I try to squeeze my hand into the drawer to snag the necklace, but can’t quite manage to grab it. I don’t want to pull out the drawer, worried Beau may sense something out of place. I’ve noticed he is very meticulous about his belongings. Slowly, I pull the drawer open while voices now join in on the stomping out in the hall. I recognize Beau’s voice and panic. A large, black pistol lays in the open drawer, and it takes me several seconds to gather my composure enough to retrieve the dog tag. With it in my hands, I slide the drawer shut, sick to my stomach at the sight of the weapon. The front door opens and I hear Beau bid farewell to whomever he’d encountered. Carefully, I set the picture back up and arrange his dog tags face down on his nightstand.

  Sheer panic sets in and I’m paralyzed with fear. I can hear him breathing heavily just a room away while I’m clearly at his nightstand, frozen. I hear his first tennis shoe drop to the ground, and realize I only have one option—the bathroom. Turning quickly, I dart for the bathroom. My toe slams on something under the bed, creating a loud thud, and an intense pain shoots through my foot. I want to scream.

  Somehow my legs manage to get me into the bathroom, and I plop down onto the toilet without thinking. I’m safe.

  “Jenni.” Beau’s voice fills the apartment. Just the sound of it causes me to tear up. I’m not sure if it’s because he’s back or from all the stuff I discovered in his room. I know I should answer him, but can’t force a word out of my mouth. I’ve never been good at being fake. When I’m pissed, I’m pissed.

  “Jenni.” His voice is more panicked this time. “Where are you?”

  Why does he do this to me? This time I do try to call out to him, but in full tears now, I can’t seem to get one word out.

  “Jesus Christ, Jenni, you scared the shit out of me.”

  Looking up, I see Beau filling the doorframe, out of breath and looking slightly relieved. Embarrassed by my appearance, I cover my face with my hands.

  “What’s wrong?” I feel Beau kneel down and both of his hands on my knees.

  Nasty, ugly tears come with long bouts of gasping. I will myself to settle down, and after a few moments I find myself able to speak.

  “I’m just going pee.”

  Of all the words, those four come out. I should’ve been honest with him and admitted I’m scared shitless from the way he was acting.

  “Jenni, your undies are still on.”

  Peeking through my fingers I realize I’m sitting on the toilet fully clothed on the top and bottom.

  “I’m sorry. What did I do to piss you off? I’m so sorry, Beau, especially after all the shit you’ve done for me.”

  My hands are pried away, and Beau’s hands are placed on either side of my face.

  “It’s not you, Jenni. Do you hear me?”

  I nod, not believing a single word.

  “You are not listening to me. Jenni, you have to understand I have serious issues.” He lets out a loud sigh. “I have…I have anger issues.”

  Those two words hit me hard. Anger issues. He has a motherfucking gun only feet away from us and he is now telling me he has anger issues. I have to leave. I only have one option.

  “I’ll never hurt you, Jenni. I know how to control it. When I’m blinded by the anger, I know I have to leave, and run.”

  “But what set you off? It was me, uh…” I stand up, removing his touch. “It’s time for me to leave, Beau.”

  “Jenni, stop, you’re not leaving now.” Beau steps to the side and lets me walk from the bathroom.

  “I angered you and I’m leaving.”

  “Will you fucking listen to me?”

  His voice is laced with hostility again, and I stop with my back to him. I pray he doesn’t ask why I was sitting on the toilet in my underwear or put together that I was snooping in his personal items.

  “Beau, my whole life I’ve angered people into hating and abusing me. I can’t stay here when clearly I just did that to you.”

  I begin to walk again, but his voice stops me.

  “Jenni. Fucking listen. It was you on your phone checking your email. Do you realize I could get so much info from you doing that? Do you do that in public with strangers around? If the wrong guy sees you, he could have all kinds of access to you.”

  “What in the hell are you talking about?” I spin around to face him, thoroughly confused.

  “I know about bad guys, and it just freaked me out.”

  “What do you mean you know about bad guys, Beau?”

  “I can’t talk about it.”

  “You can’t talk about it or won’t talk about it? Two different things.”

  “Jenni, I can’t talk about it. It’s complicated.”

  “Complicated, like, you are one of those bad guys? Beau, talk to me. Do you stalk girls? Do you have a gun? What are you? Who are you?”

  My questions strike a chord with him, and I watch as he processes all of my words. A new type of pain covers his face, almost making me feel bad for prying.

  “Jenni, I can’t talk about this. I can tell you I do have an anger issue, but I promise I’ll never hurt you.”

  “That’s all I get?” I throw my hands in the air and turn to gather my things.

  Beau clutches my shoulder and spins me back around.

  “I’m a soldier. I was a soldier. End of story. Don’t ask any more.”

  “The baby picture?” I flinch as I ask, knowing I’ve gone too far.

  Beau ignores it. His hands leave my shoulder and he clasps them at the back of his head as he spins around, letting all kinds of ugly words fly. None are directed at me; rather, all of the words attack him. The cruelty dripping from them reminds me of the scars covering the backs of his legs, then I’m suddenly picturing the dog tags on his nightstand with the picture of the baby and realize for the first time he’s way more haunted than I am.

  Stepping up to
him, I touch his right shoulder and his elbow swings back. I step away, worried he’s going to make contact, but he stops before he hits me and I realize I startled him. I put my hand back on his shoulder, and this time he doesn’t react.

  “I’m sorry. No one has ever touched me when I’ve been like this.”

  “Beau, no, I’m the one sorry for pushing.”

  “Can we just start over for the day, Jenni?”

  I step even closer, wrapping my arms around his midsection and plastering my front to his back. I place kisses on his shoulders. “I don’t want to forget our morning, Beau. It was good.”

  “I can’t do this.” Beau steps forward, but stops only feet away. “You make me want to be myself, but I can’t be myself any longer. I can’t answer your questions, and I have anger problems. You don’t deserve it.”

  I don’t give up and find myself approaching him again and wrapping myself around him. “I don’t care, Beau. Right now you are the only person I have who knows what happened. I need you.”

  He breaks from my grip again. It’s as if we are playing a virtual game of tug of war neither of us is willing to lose.

  “Then you can’t ask any more questions. You have to give me my space.”

  “I can do that, but I’d love to know the real you any day. I can handle it.”

  I step away before he has the opportunity to reply, then grab the blanket from the couch and head to his patio. It was refreshing out there, and that’s exactly what I need. Before I close the door behind me, I look back at Beau, and he’s standing there speechless. I don’t say another word because I know it won’t lead us anywhere. I feel good here, even with my reservations, and I felt phenomenal this morning when Beau and I were together. Why should I fight it?

  I lightly close the door and find a chair with the least amount of dust and leaves on it. I brush away the little bit of debris and cuddle up in my blanket. The sun is bright, with large clouds spattering the sky. Inhaling the cool air, I promise myself to just enjoy the moment. Moment by moment, I’ll get through whatever this is.

  I hear the faint sound of the door opening and closing, then the crunching of feet breaking up old, dry leaves. Beau lifts me from my seat. The man is overbearingly strong and can easily dominate me. I wrap my hands around his bicep and giggle when my fingers can’t even meet each other. Beau rests me in his lap, still bundled up in the blanket, and I lay my head back on his shoulder and relax in the sun again.

  “Move forward.” I’m not sure if he is making a statement or asking a question. Looking into his eyes, I reach up and give him a quick peck on the lips.

  “I’d love that, and I promise no more prying.”

  “And I promise I’ll last longer than I did this morning.”

  I laugh loudly, not expecting what he said. “I guess I was desperate for you, because I didn’t even notice.”

  “I haven’t been with someone for years.”

  “I never would have guessed. And I don’t believe you.”

  “At least four years.”

  “Well, I guess we better get you practiced up.”

  I stand and face Beau, throwing the blanket over my shoulder and then straddling his lap. I know our relationship is unhealthy at best, but he’s the only thing I want.

  Chapter 5

  Days pass easily with Beau. I’ve actually lost track of the number of days spent here, but know my time is nearing an end. I re-enrolled at the local cosmetology school. I need to remember to check my phone for the start date. I’m not too proud to admit this will be my second attempt at cosmetology. I’m a real-life beauty school dropout.

  Beau rustles in his sleep; he’s been having nightmares the past few nights. We started sleeping in his room two days ago, after the doctor at the hospital cleared me. The doctor was quite surprised how well everything had healed, and it’s only because of everything Beau has done for me.

  I’ve remained successful at avoiding my friends, but keep daily contact with my Aunt Danielle because I don’t want her worrying about me. I can’t say I’ve been honest with her, but at least she knows I’m doing okay. Beau is taking me to meet her later today. I want him to eat at her bakery. The man loves food, and I know he’ll absolutely gorge himself on her cooking.

  I’m lost in my thoughts when Beau begins to mumble again. He’s still mellow, the way it always starts out, but soon it will turn vicious with him thrashing and shouting. I begin to rub his back, trying to slowly wake him before he goes deeper into his nightmare. He mumbles something about a sergeant and defending his country before he lets out an agonizing wail. The sound is full of pain and grief. I wonder if he’s reliving the moment his scars were given to him.

  I haven’t asked him any more questions or even dwelled on the dog tags on his nightstand…which is holding a gun. We’ve been pleasantly entertained lounging around, going for walks, and talking about our childhoods together.

  “Beau.”

  His thrashing heightens and I know it’s about to get worse. The two times before I woke him up by yelling his name, and when he finally gained full consciousness he broke my heart with the pain covering his face. Being more forceful this time, I shake him harder while yelling his name. Beau turns over in a quick motion with his arm raised and ready to attack. I lie helplessly below him, repeating his name over and over again.

  “It’s me, Beau, it’s me.”

  His eyes soften and the hard look begins to dissipate from his face

  “Beau, you were having a nightmare.”

  He jumps back in shock. I know he’s scared that one day he won’t be able to contain his fury. In a strange way—and maybe in a naive fashion—I have full trust in the man.

  “Beau, it’s okay.”

  He takes more steps away from me and the bed we’ve shared the last few nights. I know he’s frightened and reliving his own personal nightmare, and I don’t know any other way to comfort him. So, padding softly, I go into the bathroom and turn on the shower. The lever is pushed all the way hot, and I wait for the steam to build up. When it does, I strip down to nothing and walk back into the room.

  Beau is sitting on the end of the bed, slumped into a mess. I move carefully and very slowly because I don’t want to push him or trip his switch. I’ve assumed he suffers from PTSD and did some research on it. I didn’t gather many answers besides the fact that anything can set him off, even in the happiest of environments. I want to know his stories and share his pain, but know better than to ask. So, I’ll try to take care of him the only way I know how.

  I place my hands on his shoulders, letting him know my presence, and when he doesn’t lift his head, I reach for his hands and pull him up to me. He moves easily, following my lead. He finally notices my naked flesh standing before him.

  “Let me take care of you, Beau. Let me bring you some peace and happiness.”

  He doesn’t respond, but he doesn’t avoid my touch. I push down his boxers and then guide him into the bathroom. The anguished look on his face intensifies. I kiss him until he lets me in. I take control of the kiss, holding both sides of his face and exploring every single inch of his mouth with my tongue. I want to express everything I feel in this kiss. For the man who saved me and has made me feel alive. I want to show him everything.

  He pulls back, and I notice his eyes are full of tears.

  “My name is not Beau. I’m Jeremiah. I was a prisoner of war, held captive for over a year, beaten daily. The U.S. government reported me as killed in action. They couldn’t say I was being held prisoner due to the nature of our secret mission. They gave me a new name and relocated me and told me to never under any circumstance go back to my old life.”

  He pauses for a second. Each one of his words were soaked in misery way above my comprehension, but everything seems to make sense now. The dog tags and the baby and his outrage. Even the gun makes sense to me now. More than ever, I want to be here for him and help him through this.

  My lips cover his again before he has a cha
nce to go on about his past because right now I don’t give a shit about it. I don’t need to know more, and I don’t think I could stand to hear the full story. He pulls away again before I can open his mouth with my tongue.

  “Jenni, I can’t have a life with you, or anyone. You make me feel things I shouldn’t. I never should’ve told you what I just did.” His head drops back until it’s resting on the white paint of the wall. “I feel alive again with you, and I don’t deserve that.”

  I press my body against his as he continues to stare up at the ceiling. I begin to pepper kisses all over his chest and talk to his golden skin between my kisses.

  “Beau, you saved my life.” I continue kissing and talking to him. “I have no doubt after many days of thinking about it that Maxton would have killed me. You, too, have made me feel again. Beau, I’m falling in love with you.”

  I cringe with the last few words and instantly wish I could take them back. Even though they are nothing but the truth, I don’t want Beau to know how much I need him. The silence that follows kills me and crushes any hope I’ve ever had. He doesn’t even acknowledge that I just spoke.

  A chill develops between us and my lips stall on his chest. Stepping back, I ready myself to go into the bedroom and dress. Beau’s hand catches my wrist and pulls. I slam into his chest and then feel his hand on my face. His mouth crashes down on mine in a hot and hungry kiss. His lips are brutal as he attacks my mouth. In a flash, I’m whirled around and shoved up against the wall with his chest still pressed to mine, pinning me. Then he cups my face as he continues to kiss me hard and fast. A disturbing sense of urgency fills the air.

  His actions are so shocking that I’m unable to react to him. I let him have his way with me, and something in the back of my mind tells me this is his way of letting me know he might possibly be falling in love with me as well. He enters me in one brisk movement, and I scream into his mouth, not from pain, but rather a need to have more of him. Beau plunders me in the most delicious way, and still in shock, my body allows him to. I wrap my arms around his neck, and my nails dig into his flesh as he pounds into me. I feel him harden inside me. The moment before is raw, and if I thought I was falling in love with him before, there is no doubt of it now.